


Hidden in Plain Sight

by WizardSandwich



Series: Toaster Fics [6]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Decepticon Toaster, Espionage, Gen, M/M, i invented helion for this fic but i LOVE him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-02-23 04:50:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23505991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WizardSandwich/pseuds/WizardSandwich
Summary: In an attempt to gain leverage with Decepticon High Command, the commander of Outpost XVIII sends one of her mechs to infiltrate the Autobots. It's a plan that will take time, of course, but with the walls collapsing around them they've got nothing but.
Relationships: Toaster & Original Characters, Toaster & Prowl, Toaster/Jazz
Series: Toaster Fics [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594627
Kudos: 10





	Hidden in Plain Sight

**Author's Note:**

> just wanted to write a decepticon toaster fic

Outpost XVIII’s rec room is colder than a spark freezer. It makes Toaster glad he doesn’t have vents for once. If he did, he’d be so much colder. Without Helion he’d be a lot colder too. The gold mech presses close to Toaster’s frame, soaking in the heat that he can get at any chance.

“You have monitor duty soon,” Toaster mumbles to him.

Helion huffs, pressing closer. “Don’t remind me,” Helion complains.

Toaster says, “You have to go. Argent will give you a double shift if you don’t.”

“Let her,” Helion says. As if to make a point, he moves his arm to pin Toaster’s into place. “I’ve been on shift all orn. Street Shot can do some work for once.”

Toaster wiggles, shifting Helion’s legs to rest outside of Toaster’s. “That doesn’t mean you won’t get in trouble,” Toaster tries.

Helion shrugs, lifting his helm so that his optics meet Toaster’s. “Why don’t you take my shift then, if you’re so worried?”

Toaster contemplates shoving Helion off for a moment. He’s sure that the mech will complain at him for it but right now it seems like a decent option.

Instead Toaster says, “I took your last shift. I am not taking this one.” Helion sighs. His helm drops back into resting against Toaster’s shoulder. “Can you get off my arm?”

“Sparkling,” Helion mutters, leaning back far enough for Toaster to move his arm and then laying back again. “Come on, you know I don’t do well staring at those screens. Not like you do.”

And, yeah, Toaster is good at watching. Abnormally good for someone without Special Operations training. But that doesn’t mean a thing when Toaster doesn’t have the ambition to be anywhere but a backwater base in Uraya.

“Would you even let me up to do it?” Toaster asks. He already knows the answer. Helion loves the warmth of Toaster’s frame too much to give it up.

He can practically imagine Helion’s pout as he says, “No. It’s not fair. We don’t get any off-shifts together unless it’s for recharge.”

Toaster can’t hold back a chuckle. “There, there,” he says, patting Helion’s helm. “You’ll be fine. Now get to shift.”

“I’ll die in front of that monitor without you,” Helion says.

But he’s moving off of Toaster, which is a good sign. Helion has always determined that a good amount of cuddling should predate monitor duty, so this has become sort of a ritual. Granted, sometimes Helion really will stay and get double shift.

“I’ll see you later,” Helion says sulkily. “Be ready to cuddle with me.”

Toaster nods, smiling up at him, “Of course.”

Helion’s barely out of the door before the off-shift floods into the rec room. It’s how Toaster knows it’s his cue to leave. He has recharge time allotted for the next two shifts, of which he’ll only be able to share one with Helion.

“Hey, Toaster,” a mech—Hyperbyte—calls over his shoulder. “Argent wanted to speak with you. She’s in the command center with Pathfinder.”

Toaster stands and nods, acknowledging the secondhand order, “Got it. Have fun with your off-shift.”

“As much fun as can be had in this dump,” Hyperbyte calls back as Toaster exits the rec room.

Outpost XVIII is small and Toaster finds himself out of the command center soon enough. It is as much a command center as Outpost XVIII is a base, existing in only the most basic of ways. The door has to be manually opened so Toaster knocks.

Pathfinder pulls the door open in the next moment. They move to the side in the next moment, letting Toaster passed their lumbering frame.

“Private Toaster,” they greet.

“Second in Command Pathfinder,” Toaster replies dutifully. “Is Argent in her office?”

“Yes,” Pathfinder says, “she’ll be out in a moment. She’s working on next orn’s shift schedules.”

“Did the system crash again?” Toaster asks, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Pathfinder nods sullenly, “Yeah. High Command isn’t going to do much about it though. They ‘can’t afford to send precious supplies to such a worthless base.’”

They pitch their voice into a low tone that mimics Megatron’s. Pathfinder is good at impressions and it’s incredible. Their talents were wasted in the labor the Senate had made them for. They would have been a great entertainer.

“So we’re going to be doing a lot of things by servo?” Toaster inquires, looking up at them.

Pathfinder says, “I doubt they’ll even send the supplies for that. No, we’re going to have to work with the way the system is. I’m hoping they’ll discard some tech to this place.”

Toaster almost winces at the word “discard” but doesn’t. It’s an accurate description. Outpost XVIII was full of undesirables to the Decepticon cause. Pathfinder themself was too pacifistic but they were useful here. Base Commander Argent had an irreparable optic due to visual center damage. She needed the help.

“Techs are too useful,” Toaster says. “But, who knows, Primus could grant you a boon.”

“I can hope,” Pathfinder says. Then they tilt their helm to the side, “Base Commander Argent commed to say she will be out in a moment.”

Toaster nods, straightening his posture. Base Commander Argent believed in rank and position. It was best to respect her and act professional. Strange, all things considered. The Outpost had all of fifty mechs and they were all mostly close. Base Commander Argent was the exception.

“Private Toaster,” Base Commander Argent greets.

“Base Commander Argent,” Toaster parrots. “Private Hyperbyte said you requested me?”

Argent nods, “I’m glad the unofficial channels reached you. I couldn’t give an official request due to the failure of the base’s systems.”

“I heard,” Toaster says. “No one on base can fix it?”

Argent says, “Techs are too valuable to send to my command.”

He can hear the bitterness in Argent’s voice. She doesn’t enjoy being one of the lowest on the command latter. It means that she gets the recruits that no one else wants and the least amount of supplies. This was just another addition to a long list of problems.

“Decepticon High Command won’t even send a tech temporarily, Base Commander?” Toaster asks.

“No,” she says and she sounds tired. “As long as the systems work, they won’t fix it. Crashes are my problem.”

“I see,” Toaster says, more awkward than not.

Argent turns away from him, “On to business then. Private Toaster, I’m told that you’re good at watching.”

“Private Helion says I am.” Toaster watches her, the way she moves nervously. Her thumb and foredigit rub together in her anxiety.

“That’s who I heard it from,” she says. She takes a deep vent. “Private Toaster, I have a mission for you. You’re the closest thing to Spec Ops we have.”

“Where are you going with this?” Toaster tries to stuff down his nervousness but it seeps into every word.

“I want you to infiltrate the Autobots,” Argent explains. “You’re low-ranked. No one knows who you are outside of here.”

“Why?” he asks.

Argent turns back to him. She gives him a look like she’s not quite sure if she should explain her intentions or not. But then she sighs and says, “We need leverage with Decepticon High Command. Having an infiltrator in the ranks will ensure us that. If you obtain useful information, at least.”

“And you think that I’m good enough for that?”

Argent smiles bitterly. “You’re the best we have,” she says. “That will have to do.”


End file.
